Jay Teutonic - 1190 [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

1190
1) Pope Urban warfare has begun upon the land of the sultans
A call to mics as crusades are commencing
Halt sermons, metal ware put on the hand of the Cold One
First roll of the dice, draw blades, no fencing
Catch the currents, I traverse in icy Baltics
Black cross on flag and banners as I unfold it
The dark march to claim the realm of Outremer;
No half-hearts so tell us your tales then crusader
I the scribe Jay Teutonic, slash the Hochmeister
Will have followers of this like the pied piper
Or Peter the Hermit, only an anarchist;
Legendary as the Griffins and Basilisks
1095 is where these German curtains open
Knights to fight from Europe, Urban had called them
Where other orders at their holy temples sleep
I keep my flow on target like concentric central keeps

2) A lionhearted leader, upstanding as a bastion
I strike from the skies like an overhand falchion
I drop gauntlets like strumpets drop their coursets
As headstrong as the ram at the door of a fortress
From getting glares from Barons, why just ask the Baroness
To assaulting Ayyubid ramparts, breaking down parapets
When he grabs a mic, he’s less man and more a monster
Just don’t slip like Freud or Frederick Barbarossa
Verbal assassin like the Old Man of the Mountain;
Strikes windpipes: blood leaks like urinary fountains
Patron Saint of Hip-Hop, got some ghastly parables
Continues to rock the manor like a siege mangonel
Medieval sub-genre, it couldn’t get darker
If swarms arrived from the Tower of Flies in the skies of Acre
Other acts’ acts are hopeless, swing an axe at the hopeful
I convert non-believers like Constantinople
Head on a pike, they will not impale me
Or I’ll surround them like a moat at a motte and bailey
Rap engineer, Hip-Hop’s foundations I’ll improve on them
And act as a sapper to bring down the walls of Jerusalem
Switching stances between Mamlukes and Templars
Alternating Moon and Cross on top of the Holy Sepulchre
Gritty and eye-gouging, it’s not pretty and gorgeous
Verbal version of the Sistine Chapel ceilings: I’m flawless
Atop the destrier, commander of men-at-arms
Disarms those bearing arms, and cleaves skulls with their own Scimitars

3) Stainless steel gathers heat in the scorching sun
Master crafted that is graced by the sweat of the Blacksmith
Outrageous feel of quality, ready once war is begun
Only to be obliterated by Jay Teutonic’s wrath. Swift
As he wields words as weapons leads to worlds of weeping
Swords and statements he uses both as sweeping
Singlehanded sailing of man o’ wars of legendary stature
Rule of One, damn them all, no students surpass this master
Leaves all opponents stuttering and ‘buh’-babbling
Kings to him are nothing, prowess of Saladin
Dark voids lie in the slits of his eyes
Father of this style but raise the ante and you die
Warmonger of the mind, you ain't heard his ballads yet
But in all truth, he’s a rhymer and a simple man o’ Gwent
Teutonic Disclaimer, shouldn’t take heaven lightly
This is my order, and the year is 1190